Understanding
by Kaslyna
Summary: "You understand," he chokes out, voice wobbly, "You understand." Rewrite of Annihilated; totally AU. What if Elliot went to Olivia, not Kathy? Please try it. Loosely based on Understanding by Evanescence. Read and Review! :D M for safety.


**A/N: I've never seen a story like this... just something I knocked around my head a bit. :/ Made up middle names and birthdays, spoilers for everything, the usual. Spoilers especially for Annihilated, Season 8. Don't run! Just try it. ;) What if Elliot went to Olivia instead of Kathy that night? Totally EO AU.**

**Disclaimer: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit belongs to Dick Wolf and NBC. I own nothing and never will.**

The sentence fogs his mind like a mantra. Over and over, it repeats, and it's the voice of Kathy, the first time she asked for a divorce, that is on a constant loop within his troubled mind. _She understands... she understands you, Elliot, I've never been able to understand you completely. She understands... _He grits his teeth, sucks in a sharp breath, hits the steering wheel. Kathy was always spot-on when it came to Elliot, and especially their marriage. Dammit.

He's been idling in his crappy car outside Olivia's apartment building for the past ten minutes or so, and he knows she's home, that she's probably wide awake in her bed, trying desperately to give into fitful dreams. Hours before, as he stood at the threshold of his marital home, he had promised himself he wouldn't do this to her. But then Kathy had told him he had needed to go, get home, before she called the lawyer. Which was really funny, in his sick, twisted mind.

But somehow, as Elliot is finding far more common these days, he's broken yet another moral promise to himself and ended up here. Because she does understand; of course she does, she's Olivia, and that's who Olivia is. It's still hard to think of himself as so weak that he's ended up here tonight, but he has, and he doesn't have too much of a choice. Should he go in? Probably not, but oh well. Too bad, because lately, his conscious has been all but ignored.

Huffing in frustration and absolute annoyance with himself, Elliot stops the engine abruptly, and, before he can really think, gets out of the car and walks up to her building. He enters, debating to buzz her or just use his key to gain entry. Finally, he decides if he's going to do this right (he's completely given up on not going to see her, not spending the night there) he should probably be formal, so he buzzes her and prays for the best.

"Hello?" her voice says, muffled and sleepy, and he feels instantly a pang of guilt.

"Did I wake you?" he asks, uncertainly shuffling from foot to foot.

She chuckles, "El? No, couldn't really sleep. Come right on up."

"Thanks, Liv," he mumbles sheepishly, looking down as she opens the door.

He takes the elevator up to the fourth floor, walks the halls as familiar as the back of his hand to her apartment at the end, 4D. He timidly knocks, and she smiles and allows him in, greeting him tiredly.

"I saw my kids," he says softly.

"How'd it go?" she asks, genuinely curious.

He shrugs, frowning, "They were asleep. Kathy kicked me out."

She can tell instantly he's trying to play this off as nothing, but it's quite obvious to her it's not nothing, so Olivia says, "Well, want a beer?"

He nods, grateful she doesn't say something stupid and sympathetic, "Thanks, Liv. Really."

She shrugs, "Glad to know I'm not the only insomniac in Manhattan, I guess."

He sits, upon her insistence, on her couch, while she grabs them beers and soft pretzels, chatting amiably and lightly, softly, almost, with him. He thinks about Maureen, in medical school, and Kathleen, in her junior year of college; and finally, of Dickie and Lizzie, fourteen and in the eighth grade. It's surreal, really, that they've come to this, he muses. It's surreal that's he's forty-three years old and his oldest child is becoming a pediatrician and his youngest children are confirmed into the church and working hard to become better people, to have better lives than their parents did.

He is snapped out of his reverie by Olivia's return; he graciously accepts the beer and thanks her once more. They talk, laugh, drink, and eat pretzels. It's quiet, suddenly, and the world spins as he remembers why he's here, and he looks deep into her cocoa brown orbs and thinks to himself, _She's my salvation, the only thing worth living for, fighting for, now... I have nearly nothing, only her, really, and she understands... maybe that's all we need... maybe..._

"El?" her voice is breathless, the air in the room electrified, "El? What is it?"

"You understand," he chokes out hoarsely, his voice wobbling, "You understand."

"Of course I do," she furrows her brow, "El? What is it?"

He cups her face in his hands, and his name is a breathy whisper from her lips, a question, as her eyelids flutter close involuntarily, and he looks at her deeply, answering her, "You're the only one... you understand. No one else..."

She nods a little, opens her eyes, and, upon seeing the raw desire and naked emotion in his cerulean eyes, Olivia melts a little as she leans forward, brushing her lips tenderly, gently, softly against his. He tastes of beer, salt, peppermint, and stale coffee, and suddenly the kiss is heated and her hands are tangled in his hair. Before long he has carried her to the bedroom, and they are naked, both literally and metaphorically. Their eyes lock before he pushes into her, knowing that things will never be the same again.

And as they cry out their releases simultaneously, it's for all the cruelty, hate, and violence in this world, and for the only people who ever understand.

It's all they both need, and yet, it is simply not enough for either one of them.

* * *

They wake in the morning, faces searching desperately for comfort and solace. Olivia is the one to break the ice, as she so often is.

"We can't... we're partners..."

"I know," he murmurs, nodding slightly, "I know, Liv, believe me, I know. I used you... I'm sorry."

She shook her head, biting her lower lip tentatively, "No, you didn't. I started it."

He smirks in relief, "Well, anyways, Liv..."

"You left some of your clothes here," she tells him softly, recalling the first time he'd crashed on her couch, shortly after his separation from Kathy, while he looked for his own place.

He nods, relieved, "Thanks. Really, Liv."

"No problem."

But it is. A problem, that is.

As these things tend to go, it was carefully gilded, hiding the dark secrets lurking just below the surface.

* * *

The next case is of a thirteen-year-old repeat rape victim, Cheryl Monroe, who is seven months pregnant and planning on giving her baby up to a couple in their mid-thirties to care for. It depresses the hell out of Olivia, she realizes, that at such a young age Cheryl will have to make such a crucial decision. The couple is Hannah Joseph and Zoe Monet, thirty-two and thirty-three, respectively. It was Hannah and Zoe's idea for Cheryl to get help, of course; for their baby. When Cheryl had asked how they could repay them for this, they'd said she needed help.

And so, that is how Olivia finds herself interviewing a heavily pregnant teenager in the seventh grade the morning after royally screwing up by sleeping with her partner of nine years now. It's twisted and soap-opera-ish and Olivia fucking hates her job right now, she really does. And she thinks of what he, what Elliot, had said to her last night, before they screwed up; she was his salvation, his saving grace, the only thing that kept him sane after Kathy left him. She was the one to hold him while he cried because Dickie and/or Lizzie asked him when he was coming home and he'd had to calmly tell them he wasn't, he couldn't.

"It was your dad?" she's snapped to reality by Elliot confirming who raped Cheryl. Cheryl nods.

"Since I was nine," she shrugs, "He was my step-dad. My mom really loves him... she hasn't been on drugs, alcohol, or abused me. It was a small price to pay. Until I got pregnant."

Olivia feels sickened, but prompts, "Then?"

"She called me a dirty little slut, beat me, and kicked me out. My English teacher, Lily Rhodes, is fostering me. Hannah is one of her best childhood friends. I wanted to give up the kid, and Hannah wanted a baby... it worked out, you know?"

Olivia nods, "Okay, thank you for your time, Cheryl. We'll be in touch."

The girl smiles sadly, "Thank you."

They leave and arrest her step-dad, Robert Jacobson, interrogate him, and send him to booking.

Paperwork and silence fills their afternoon.


End file.
